More Bark Than Bite
by silver ruffian
Summary: Dean, Coyote and Sam meet up with chupacabra in Dewitt County Texas. A two part oneshot that takes place in the CoyoteDean 'verse.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N:_** I blame that video about the Chupacabra sighting in Dewitt County, Texas for this one. My muse wouldn't let me alone until I finished it; that's why _Unaware_ is late this week. If you haven't read _Dog Eat Dog_, here's all you need to know: in this AU Dean Winchester is the avatar for the Trickster God Coyote. This story takes place in the same 'verse as _Dog_ and _Death By Golden Retriever_.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchester boys. Eric Kripke does, you lucky SOB…

* * *

**_Part 1 of 2_**

**_Cuevo, Texas_**

"They're ugly, and they're late," Dean grumbles.

A few feet away Coyote rolls over on his back in the grass, grinning, obviously enjoying the wind carding his thick grayish brown fur. He's twice the size of a normal coyote, and, as befits a deity, twice as beautiful. His coat's Hollywood perfect, not a scar to be found. Flies don't even come near him. Fleas? They wouldn't dare.

"Relax kid, they'll be here," the Old Man yawns. "Punctuality ain't one of their strong points."

"No, but goat sucking is." Dean tries not to yawn, fights the urge to look at his watch. He hates standing still. "I saw the video. Cop said it looked like a coyote with a bad case of mange."

Dean's spiky dark blond hair is bleached by the sun. He stands relaxed and easy against the tall stump of that dead tree. Despite his closed off body language (arms folded across his chest) he's actually feeling pretty mellow. He's gorgeous, broad shouldered, slim hipped. Godhood totally agrees with him.

Coyote sniffs disdainfully. "Shows you how much they know."

"Yeah, and the word_ coyote_ kept coming up, along with the words _deformed_, and _mutant_." Dean cocks an amused eye on his trickster half. "Something you wanna tell me before they get here?"

"Nope. Nothin'."

Dean looks at his watch for the third time in as many minutes. Coyote huffs. The kid can't stay still in one place for too long. Well, if he was laying in wait for some fugly he could, which in a way they _are_, but this is different. They're not hunting right now.

A small cloud of mosquitos takes aim at Dean, but thinks better of it and moves off when they get closer and realize what he is.

"This wouldn't be family that you forgot to tell me about?" Dean's slight grin is sly and somewhat crooked.

Coyote actually looks offended. _Deeply offended._ It's surprising the depth of emotion he can show with that furry face of his. His wide eyes are deep green, framed by ridiculously long eyelashes, just like Dean's.

"I got_ standards_ to maintain. _Standards_," Coyote snaps indignantly. "They called us for help, we came. That's_ it,_ that's _all_. Us canines gotta stick together."

Something rustles inside those thick bushes nearby. There's no need for alarm; they already know what it is.

Just a cat. Somebody's pampered pet roaming around loose for the day. The black and white furball sticks its head out, takes one look at them and streaks off in the opposite direction.

"Hmph." Coyote stares after it just a little too long. He licks his lips, reveals perfect white teeth, nice and sharp. "Plump old rascal, ain't he?"

"Plump?" Dean scowls. "That's just wrong."

"Aw, don't be like that," Coyote says, grinning. "I could eat something right now. 'm feelin' a mite peckish."

"Peckish?" Dean grins despite himself. "Damn, you're so full of shit."

"Yep. I could go for some chicken. Or beef. Or cat."

"Cat?"

"Yeah, y' know." Coyote cocks his head to one side. "Feline?"

Dean remembers a couple of mornings recently when he woke up and his throat felt funny, like he'd swallowed a wad of cotton. Or fur. He wouldn't put it past the Old Man to go joy-riding in the body they shared when Dean was asleep at night.

"Damn." Dean tries not to gag. He clears his throat. It's scratchy and he swears he tastes cat fur on his tongue.

"Dude, you didn't—"

"Relax, kid." Coyote grins as he rolls over on his back. "Haven't eaten a cat in, oh, over twenty eight years now." He lies there with one forepaw folded up over his chest, the other one straight up in the air. "Meow." His thick tail waves lazily back and forth. "Tastes like chicken."

Dean burps a little, despite himself. He's determined not to hurl. Coyote's grin gets even wider. He waves one paw in the air. "Secretly I knew you wanted to know."

"Thought Tricksters were freaks for sugar, not meat."

"Sometimes we are." Coyote shrugs. "If you wanna scarf down a whole bag of Peanut M&Ms, feel free. I ain't gonna stop ya. That sugar stuff is mostly for those young'uns. We're one of the First, remember?"

"Yeah," Dean mutters under his breath. "This life does have its perks."

Dean drums his fingers, then his palms, against the dead wood of the tree trunk. Coyote tilts his head to one side, narrows his eyes as he listens. He doesn't recognize the song at first, and when he finally does he flattens his ears. It's "Master of Puppets". Not one of his favorites. He's tone deaf. Can't carry a tune, except when he's howling at the moon or drunk on Ambrosia.

After another minute or so Dean huffs impatiently and checks his watch. Again.

"You got someplace else you need to be?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. Need to check out my girl when Dad gets back from town. Engine's sounding a little rough. Got to clean our weapons stash. There's laundry." Dean shrugs. "I got better things to do than stand around and wait for fugly to show up."

Coyote rolls his eyes. "All you gotta do is think about it, and it's done._ Hel-lo, trickster god here, remember?_ Powers beyond those of mortal men?"

Dean shrugs. "Not my style, Old Man."

"You with all those rules of yours," Coyote huffs, amused. "You won't manifest living beings. Only weapons and inaminate objects. You won't read people's minds unless you absolutely have to. Niño, you are such a girl."

"Yeah, and I'm the girl doing the driving, remember?"

"Yep."

"Being able to draw weapons out of thin air is pretty sweet." Dean lifts up one hand, turns his wrist smoothly from side to side.

Coyote does that eye roll again as the weapon manifests itself and Dean makes ever-widening passes in the air around him. Not that damn two bladed lightsaber again. "Being able to heal yourself after slicing your hand off is pretty sweet, too," Coyote drawls.

Dean shrugs it off. "Yeah that's the way of it. I made a mistake once and you never let me forget it."

"All that whimpering and screaming gave me a headache. It was a clean cut."

Dean makes a few more passes with the lightsaber. The energy blades glow soft blue, and the weapon hums as it cuts through the air. One of the mosquitos, the dumbest one of the lot, is too bloodthirsty and throws caution to the wind. She decides to go after Dean after all, and he separates her wings from her body with a slight flick of his wrist, then cuts the body neatly in half in mid-air. That's one less bloodsucker in the world.

Dean recognizes a familiar scent (uswebloodfamily) in the air and grins a little. "Hey, Sammy."

"Hi, Dean."

Sam Winchester eases out into the open from behind that grove of trees fifty feet back. He sticks his hands in his pockets and whistles this nameless tune. Sam's trying for innocent, and usually he's pretty darn good at it. This time though, he's caught dead to rights and he knows it. Trying to slip around undetected around Dean was hard before; it's damn near impossible now.

As usual, Dean doesn't hide what he can do now, not in front of Sam and John, at least, but he's not exactly holding daily press conferences about his new god status now, either. One of the first things Dean and Coyote did was give John Winchester his life and his body back, so naturally Sam's got a lot of questions. At least half of the questions are about how Dean feels about things nowadays. Sam wants chick flick moments, just like people down in hell want ice water.

And just like people down in hell, so far Sam isn't getting what he wants, either.

When Dean clammed up, Sam naturally tried to do an end run around him and approach Coyote directly. That didn't work either. Even though the furball's thrilled with Sam's questions about his life and his abilities, and loves to talk about himself, Coyote's not one much for sharing and caring either.

Hmph. What were the odds?

Sam won't stop trying. They all know that.

Sam stands back a respectable distance as Dean smirks a little and slows down the rotation of his wrist. Sam knows Dean would never hurt him, but still and all, there was that business with Dean's severed hand.

Dean lets him hang a little while longer. Then: "So, uh…Sam…what'cha doin' out here?"

Sam follows the moving lightblade with his eyes. He grins a little, somehow a little shy, awkward. "Uh, thought I'd go for a walk."

"A walk." Dean drawls slowly. "Out here."

Sam shrugs those broad shoulders of his. "Yeah."

"Hey, Sammy. Watch this." Dean winks. He fills his other hand with another double-bladed lightsaber and it dances slowly in the air, suspended on Dean's talented fingertips. The second set of blades glow green.

Several of the mosquitos make a beeline for Sam, and Dean's eyes narrow slightly. That's it, they've overstayed their welcome. He flicks the edge of the second lightsaber out in the air, and they all join their sister in Bug Heaven.

"Whoa!" Sam steps back. John taught his sons to be ambidextrous, but still… Dean increases the rotation of both wrists, and the air around him goes bluish green.

"Uh…uh, Dean?"

"Not bad, huh, Sammy? Told ya I got the hang of it."

Coyote gets up, walks over and sits down right next to Sam. Coyote cocks his head. "Don't worry, kid," the Trickster says out of the side of his mouth. "Anything he cuts off will grow back."

"I heard that," Dean mumbles softly. "Never distract a dude at a time like this."

Coyote yawns. "At a time like this dude should be careful he doesn't cut off something he'll need. _Again_."

Sam snort-chuckles.

Dean's eyes widen in mock fear as he deliberately throws at few shakes and stutters into his wrist action, just to amuse himself. Sam shakes his head. He's not buying it. He's not in any danger, and they all know it. Sometimes perfection can be as boring as hell.

After a minute or so Dean's motions smooth out again. Sam stands there watching and even though he's six feet four and will never be a child again in this lifetime he feels like he's two years old again. Dean's showing off, putting on a show just for him. Quiet moments like this are few and far in between. The lines of tension in Dean's face relax, and he looks younger, his eyes bright and alive. He's enjoying himself, doing something just for the pure joy of it._ He looks like a little kid again, _Sam thinks to himself.

Dean magicks the lightsabers back and forth. The colors change, from yellow to purple, blue to green and then red. The double blades become single and back to double again. At one point Dean throws the blue lightblade up in the air, pivots and turns back around to neatly catch it in less than a second. Damn hotdog is showboating his ass off. Sam laughs, but it's not a nervous "Oh God we're all gonna die" kind of laugh. Dean's in the zone, and Sam's a very appreciative audience.

So's Coyote, but the Old Man isn't going to admit it. He's got this look that says _yeah, I've seen this all before and man I'm bored to tears_, but Sam can tell after a while the way the critter tips his head, his ears straight up and that bright look in his eyes, ol' Roamer is impressed too.

Thing is, Sam's seen this before on a smaller scale but he can't quite put his finger on it. He stares at Dean for another minute or so, and then it hits him.

"Dude." Sam grins. "You saw Tom Cruise on Oprah, didn't you? 'Last Samurai'? A few years ago?"

For a split second Dean looks startled, and Sam thinks_, Ah hah, Gotcha._

Coyote snorts, and Dean glares at him. _Shut up._

"Oprah?" Dean goes a little flushed around the edges. The blades slow down a little. Dean shakes his head. "Only you would see such an awesome display of manly dexterity and immediately think of Oprah, Sammie Sue."

"Uh huh. Sure, princess."

"Girly man."

"Macho jerk."

"Bitch."

At the same time Sam feels something coming from Dean, a wave, a vibration that passes through the air. It rattles the ground, shakes the sparse grass and pebbles all around but by the time it reaches Sam it shimmies over his skin with a feather touch. Dean's still got the blades in motion, but his face changes in a blink, from relaxed to full-on alert. The pupils of Dean's eyes glow a soft pure yellow. "Sam?"

"Huh?"

"Don't move." Dean's staring at him. Staring past him.

Sam looks down. Coyote's up and turned around in the opposite direction, facing behind Sam. The Old Man's hackles are raised and that growl of his is low and deep like distant thunder. Sam looks around, and that's when he realizes they're surrounded.

Twenty five chupacabra sit in a ring all around them. They're late, and damn, are they_ ugly_.

_**000**_

**_On to part 2._**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Dean or Sam, and it pains me to have to say that.

* * *

_**Part 2 of 2**_

Sam just stares.

He's seen a whole lot of fugly in his young life, just not this much fugly all in one place. He sees rough grey skin, covered in patches by thin wispy grey fur. The front legs of these critters are shorter than the back legs, and the tail looks like an oversized rat's tail, long, whip-like and scaly. The face is something only a mother could love, and she'd have to be either drunk, high or insane to appreciate it. Long blunt muzzles, thick foreheads topped by floppy ears, and that terrible overbite isn't going to win them any beauty contests, either. Warts and boils dot their skin everywhere, in places that he'd rather not think about. They have big floppy ears, and the thing that most surprises Sam is the smell. Mildewed leather, so heavy it makes the hairs in Sam's nostrils curl.

They're growling, Coyote's growling. The Old Man puts himself between them and Sam.

The closest one is fairly large, German Shepherd-sized. It stares at Sam up and down, and Coyote snarls as it slinks forward.

"You don't come out here and threaten me and mine, boy," Coyote's hackles are up, his head's down, and he sidesteps in front of Sam, the tip of his thick tail twitching back and forth. "Think you bastards have forgotten who you're dealin' with. Maybe I oughta remind you." He lowers his gaze on the chupacabra like a gunsight. Those green eyes of his glint gold and the fugly actually flinches.

Sam blinks and Dean is suddenly standing there right beside him, emptyhanded.

"Need some help?" Dean says softly. He sounds bored, but Sam isn't fooled.

Coyote huffs. He never breaks eye contact. "Oh hell no. I got this."

Dean shrugs.

"Now here's where it gets ugly," Dean blurts out.

"Dean?"

"Man, they're ugly enough to break day--"

"Dean—"

"They got beat with the ugly stick--" Dean's rambling on in a vain attempt to describe what he's seeing.

"Dean?"

"They fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down."

"Damn it, Dean, are you finished?" Sam snaps.

"Don't get ugly with me, Sam," Dean quips.

"Dean?" Sam's bitchface is out in full force.

"Dude, they're fugly.'"

"Dean!"

"Okay. I'm done." Dean smirks as his eyes flash golden, and the rest of the goat suckers shrink back.

A smaller one darts out and nips the larger one on the hindquarters. He whines and gives Sam the evil eye as he turns tail, but he won't look Coyote in the eyes again.

Coyote stands there, just as beautiful as they are ugly. He's the perfect alpha male, with his ears and head up, a dominant male all the way, and the smaller one bows to him.

The voice is a surprise. It's more cultured than Sam would expect, sounds like a talking head on tv. Hell, the fact that it can talk at all is a shocker, but after spending the last year with Dean and Coyote, Sam doesn't stay surprised for too long about anything.

The small chupacabra bows deeply, and won't look any of them in the eye. "Old Man Coyote, First Artist, First Scolder, please forgive the actions of that hot-headed young fool. We come in peace and we mean you and your pack no harm. You have many names, and we revere them all. You are the Creator, the Magician, Roamer, Ban, Sinchlep, Akba-Atatdia, Fine Young Chief Howling In the Dawn in the East…"

Coyote's expression softens slightly. He looks wistful. "Damn. I really miss hearing that one."

"You never had much sympathy for us, Old Man." It's the one that tried to move on Sam first. He apparently feels more secure hiding behind the others. "You're one'a them pretty boys." He yelps when one of his mates nips him on the flank and hisses at him to keep quiet.

"Please, we need your help," the smallest chupacabra murmurs.

"All right." Coyote sounds bored. "What do you want?"

"We need sanctuary."

Coyote doesn't say anything. His eyes narrow.

"The humans will come and hunt us."

"Whose damn idea was that, huh? Which one'a you idjits" _(Huh, Sam thinks, Coyote's been hanging around Bobby a lot)_ "had the bright idea to get caught on tape? By a cop, no less? You made Yahoo. What part of keeping a low profile did you not understand?"

"It was him," one of the others whines, indicating the punk that challenged Coyote in the first place.

"Got your pictures all over the news." The Old Man gets up, paces back and forth." You gave 'em everything but a map on where you live, and how to get out here."

"They got Betty last month," another whines fearfully.

Dean quirks an eyebrow at Sam. "Betty?"

"They came here asking for help." Dean knows that look on Sam's face. Stubborn, determined. Sam's a man on a mission now. "What are you gonna do?"

"What do you _think _we oughta do?" Dean says slowly. He already knows the answer, and he's not too thrilled with it.

"Help them," Sam says simply.

"What? Dude, you gotta be freakin' kidding me. Since when do we go around cleaning up messes we didn't make in the first place?"

Sam just stares at his brother. "We do it all the time. It's our job, remember?"

"We usually hunt things that look like them."

"Well, yeah. They're not that bad looking."

Dean stares at his brother in disbelief.

"Have they ever attacked a human? I researched them before I came out here, Dean. I don't know about the ones down in Mexico, or anyplace else, but this group doesn't attack humans. Even that big one over there ran away from the camera. _He didn't attack. _There's something kind of sad about them." Sam shrugs. He's solidly into emo territory, and it's too damn late to turn back now. "Maybe...maybe they act that way because they don't feel good about themselves."

"Are we even related?" A little bit more and Dean would be speechless. "Tell me you're not playing Dr. Phil to a bunch of chupacabra."

"We hunt evil, Dean. We don't kill things just because they're supernatural."

Both Dean and Coyote flinch slightly at the same time. Dean remembers Leonore and her nest of good vampires. They fed only on cattle, and Dean still wanted to slaughter all of them _(if it's supernatural, we kill it)_, until Sam convinced him otherwise. "Damn, that stings. That's a low blow, Sam."

"Awkward," Coyote mumbles.

Sam steps away from Dean and past Coyote. The smaller chupacabra looks up fearfully and backs up as Sam approaches.

"Sam, don't get that close. Dude, you don't know where they've…of course he's not listening to a damned thing I say." Dean finishes up lamely as Sam kneels down in front of the creature.

Less than five minutes later Sam Winchester's sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by chupacabra talking about their feelings.

Dean doesn't say anything. He sits down with his back against the dead tree trunk, fills his hand with a leather baseball glove and a baseball. He amuses himself by bouncing the ball off that rock wall nearby. Coyote flattens his ears with each loud thock of the ball.

Sam's got work to do.

_**000**_

"I don't believe this," Coyote grouses.

"That's Sammy for you," Dean drawls fondly. "Kid has a soft spot a mile wide."

"Are you sure he's your brother?"

Dean gives him a look. Coyote shakes his head.

"Never mind. Hunters come in here, it's gonna be like shooting fish in a damn barrel."

Dean nods. "Looked it up on the internet. Some damn rock star's organizing a hunting party." He frowns a little as he throws the ball with a whiplike snap of his wrist and catches it less than a second later. "Show him the money and you're guaranteed to bag a goat sucker."

_Captain Virgil Hilts,_ Dean thinks to himself as he makes another catch. _The Great Escape. Steve McQueen. Damn, that never gets old. _

"I remember what it was like before, back in the day. Coyote hunts. Bodies hanging up on fences. Pelts with the ears and feet cut off." Coyote's fur ripples uneasily with the memory.

"Make a fortune on ebay selling body parts," Dean says quietly. Another toss, another catch. "Got a place in mind for them to go?"

"Yeah." The Old Man gets up and shakes the dust out of his fur. "Kind of like a witless protection program."

Dean snorts. "You mean witness."

Coyote stares at him pointedly. "I know what I said. Witless." He sighs. "I can get 'em in. Raven owes me big time. So does Badger and some of the other folks down at the kiva." He glances at Sam and his little therapy group and shakes his head. "In the meantime we're gonna have to do something about their damn social skills. They don't play well with others."

Dean snorts again. "And _we _do?"

Coyote has to grin a little about _that_ one himself. "Nobody likes a smart ass, kid."

"Maybe we can do something about the way they look. Sam might be onto something there."

Another eye roll. "Not you too?"

"I'm just sayin'."

"You can't fix stupid, niño."

"No, but you can fix ugly. Beverly Hills? Plastic surgeons? Any of that ringing any bells? If they look better, maybe they'll act better. Hey, they don't call you the Magician for nothing, do they? Come on, don't tell me you can't work some of that coyote magic here."

"You gettin' emo on me now?"

"I'm the insensitive macho jerk," Dean sniffs. "Don't mess with the status quo, okay? I'm happy with it just the way it is."

"We're giving make-overs," Coyote says thoughtfully.

"Extreme make-overs," Dean says with a laugh.

"To damn chupacabras now."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Son of a bitch," the Old Man mutters.

_**000**_

After a couple more hours Sam gets up, brushes the dust off his jeans. Dean looks over, sees him coming, and gets rid of the ball and glove. "Okay Doctor Phil, how'd it go?"

Sam smiles a little as Dean gets to his feet. "They'll do whatever we ask them to. They're scared. They just want to be left alone. Dean, I just spent the last two hours having a conversation with chupacabras." Sam 's grin gets a little wider. He looks giddy.

"Yep. I think your nickname should be Talking with Goat Suckers from now on." Dean claps him on the shoulder. Sam looks blank. "You know, _Dancing With Wolves_? It's…it's a play on words…" Sam_ still_ looks blank. Dean gives up. "Aw, forget it."

Coyote sits there staring past them at the horizon. "If we can just get past this little Maalox moment, I don't think we're done here just yet."

"You mean Kodak moment," Dean snarks.

The look Coyote gives him is sharp like a pointed stick."I know what I said."

Dean tilts his head to one side as his eyes widen slightly. He lets out a low whistle.

"Aw, crap," Coyote mutters darkly.

"Uh, Sammy? Dr. Phil? Dude, I wouldn't put the couch away just yet." Sam freezes in place, then slowly turns to follow Dean's line of sight.

The first Bigfoot Sam sees has to be about ten feet tall, at least. It has greyish-brown fur, bright intelligent brown eyes. The one behind it is slightly smaller, obviously female, and those two smaller ones must be the kids. The smallest one clings to its mother's side and tries to hide behind her when it sees the brothers and Coyote.

Several yards back something slinks low to the ground on four cloven feet. It's barrel chested, about the size of a small pony, covered with slick pinkish brown skin, big red eyes, a bird's beak and a stubby tail that twitches back and forth as it walks. God (or somebody) must've had a sense of humor when He created the damn thing because the tiny leathery wings on its back are about as useful and makes as much sense as a pig riding a bicycle. The five others behind it are carbon copies of the first, only smaller.

Sam stops counting after the first thirty fuglies or so. They walk, crawl, slither and hop.

Apparently news travels fast in these parts.

Coyote gets up and shakes himself. "Well, come on, Doctor Phil. Your public awaits."

"Don't sweat it, Sammy. We got your back." Dean walks back over with Sam. It's more of the same, they ask for sanctuary, and even though Roamer rolls his eyes and grumbles, Dean knows that nobody's gonna be turned away. Sam knows that too. Dean hangs around just long enough to make sure that stupid isn't gonna break out. If it does, he intends to have the final word, but everybody wants help, so everybody's well behaved.

_Too bad Dad missed this_, Dean thinks as he excuses himself. Sam's good with those damn emotions. This is Sam's gig. Dean's just the muscle, and he's fine with that.

Dean puts his ass on the ground and his back against the tree.

He positions himself so that he can keep an eye on Sam. Just in case. Sammy sits crosslegged in the middle of a ring of newcomers as the chupacabras sit restlessly nearby. Coyote sits nearby, pretends that patch of grass in front of him is just so damned interesting. He gives that big male chupacabra a dirty look and chuckles to himself when it goes submissive like a week old cub.

This life does have its perks after all.

Dean sighs as he brings the ball and glove back.

Another toss, another catch.

It's gonna be a _long_ day.

_**000**_

**_Finished, thank goodness. Now maybe this particular plot bunny will leave me alone so I can update other stories. If you made it this far, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave a review, let me know what you thought._**


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